


Somebody to Love Me

by Snowfilly1



Series: Valentine's Oneshots 2020 [6]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Caring Aziraphale (Good Omens), Changing pronouns for Crowley, Crowley Has Issues (Good Omens), Crowley Has a Penis (Good Omens), Crowley Has an Anxiety Disorder (Good Omens), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Ineffable Valentines 2020 (Good Omens), Leap Year, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Protective Aziraphale (Good Omens), Sex as a coping strategy, South Downs Cottage (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-29
Updated: 2020-02-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:42:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22960399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snowfilly1/pseuds/Snowfilly1
Summary: Ok then. He’d made plans for this. He’d bothered Aziraphale most of the night because he was fretting about it. He’s not going to give it up just because his stupid brain thinks it gets a casting vote on things. Especially good things.Crowley wants to ask his angel something important, regardless of what his anxiety thinks is or isn't a good idea.For the 'free choice' prompt on the Ineffable Valetine's challenge.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Valentine's Oneshots 2020 [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1631470
Comments: 9
Kudos: 101
Collections: Ineffable Valentines 2020





	Somebody to Love Me

**Author's Note:**

> This fic looks at anxiety and the wonderful ways it can screw your mind up, even when you're looking forward to something that ought to be exciting, specifically very negative self directed thoughts and insults, and looping / spiralling thought patterns. Also sex and specific sex acts as a coping strategy, albeit with prior discussion. 
> 
> Please don't read if that's likely to hurt. 
> 
> Lots of swearing from Crowley, all self directed.

Crowley can’t sleep. Not that there’s anything unusual in that, even three years after the world didn’t end and a year after they’d decided to Hell (or Heaven) with everyone else and brought a cottage together, but it doesn’t mean he has to like it.

He twists in bed, trying not to disturb Aziraphale who’s reading quietly alongside him.

_It’s not too late to change your mind._

Of course it isn’t. He hasn’t even really made his mind up; it’s more a vague collection of thoughts and feelings that he’d really like to do it today. Aziraphale doesn’t know. It won’t matter if he changes his mind.

 _Stop being a bloody wimp,_ he growls at himself and turns in the blankets again, pushing his face against the pillows.

_It’s a stupid fucking idea._

He sighs, recognising the feeling. Either he gets a handle on his thoughts in the next few minutes, or he’s going to be listening to them looping around for what will feel like eternity and will probably be most of the day in fact.

_Fuck off. You’ve been thinking about it for ages._

_Still probably best to leave it. Don’t screw things up._

_It’s not going to get screwed up. It’s different now. All different._

_What if…_

_Fuck off, alright?_ And he realises he’s spoken that aloud, muttered it into his pillow at least, because Aziraphale has laid his book down and is looking at him.

‘Dearest?’

He drags himself into a sitting position and wraps his arms around his knees. Aziraphale sits up with him.

‘That wasn’t a dream, was it?’

‘Nah.’ He knows better, after all this time, than to lie to his angel. ‘Just a bit…anxious I guess.’ He also knows that Aziraphale is kind enough never to ask for details, which normally saves him the embarrassment of explaining himself, and right now is saving him from an awkward conversation about talking to himself and plans for later today.

‘Here.’

A wing wraps around him, effectively cutting off all the rest of the world. He tries to focus on how the feathers feel against his skin. Aziraphale rests his chin on Crowley’s shoulder, and the angel is warm, impossibly warm and pleasant against him.

_Useless fucking coward. You know what he’s going to say when you do ask, don’t you? Just get on with it._

‘Crowley…what do you need me to do?’

He drags a couple of deep breathes. Feels a shudder run through his entire body.

They’ve discussed all this, a long time ago. Figured things out that work even when Crowley can’t get the words out to explain what he wants or need; things that Aziraphale feels safe offering and Crowley can accept.

‘Jus’ distract me. Make me stop fucking thinking.’

Aziraphale kisses him, tenderly, and gathers him in his arms. ‘You want to come?’

A headshake. ‘Dunno. Not yet. Aziraphale, just make it stop.’

_You can ask him for that, let him know all that, why don’t you just ask him?_

‘Alright, dearest. It’s alright now, I’ve got you, come here…’

He allows Aziraphale to lay him down onto the mattress, and then tries to blank everything else out. He’s always reluctant to call this making love; that’s for when Crowley knows what he’s doing, when he can join in. This is Aziraphale taking care of him, and it had taken a long while to accept it, let alone ask for it.

Aziraphale kisses him again and again, closed mouthed pecks turning to open mouthed licking and biting, flashes of sensation trailing down over his ribs and chest. By the time he starts using his hands as well, running his fingers across Crowley’s hipbones, caressing the hard planes of his face, the world is narrowing down to just their bed.

There’s a lot less talking than normal, mostly because Aziraphale won’t lift his mouth from Crowley’s skin, and he’s glad of it. He doesn’t want the angel asking if he’s alright, because he isn’t honestly sure what the answer is, but he’s a lot better than he would be if they stopped.

An endless amount of time later, all he can hear is the thunder of a heartbeat he doesn’t need; the insistent clamour of his body for more of this.

Aziraphale’s leaning over him now, smiling down at him. He’d come a while back, across Crowley’s chest, which he’s only just noticed, and he’s been teasing, rubbing Crowley’s thighs, kissing his stomach until all he can think about is his arousal. 

‘Better?’

‘Yeah. Thanks.’

‘You want me to keep going, or…’ Aziraphale is careful not to touch at the moment, guessing that they’ve probably reached the end of what Crowley needs for now.

‘Thisss…is fine…’ He twitches a hand downwards, gesturing towards his stiff cock. ‘Anything else and I’ll come and…’

‘You’ll be back to thinking,’ Aziraphale says gently and pushes a chaste kiss against Crowley’s cheek. ‘Stay here?’

Crowley nods and stretches out, hands fisted in the sheets. It’s uncomfortable and his body hates him, clamouring for him to finish, for release, but it’s immeasurably better than having his mind clamouring at him. A different kind of tension.

Aziraphale strokes his hair, the faintest touch of a miracle dragging across his skin. He’s not sure what it’s for, but it feels good. He can breath and his mind is blissfully, thankfully silent aside from his physical desire. The angel stays at least until he’s fallen into something near sleep and probably a lot longer.

Late February light is flooding the bedroom when he does open his eyes, and Aziraphale is pottering somewhere; he can smell tea and the heady scent of daffodils, so he must have picked some more this morning. His body had dealt fairly directly with things at some stage and he cleans everything with a thought, wondering if Aziraphale had noticed.

Ok then.

He’d made plans for this. He’d bothered Aziraphale most of the night because he was fretting about it. He’s not going to give it up just because his stupid brain thinks it gets a casting vote on things. Especially good things.

A quick thought and his body is mostly female; another wave and she’s dressed. Crowley does her hair by hand; it’s round her shoulders by now and she pins half of it up, messy to start with. Aziraphale likes her hair whatever she does, and says so frequently, but he does particularly enjoy it like this. And she’s delaying.

 _Stop being so bloody stupid. Get on with it,_ and for a moment, she’s afraid that it’s like last night all over again, however much she wants this.

She grabs the box from the shelf by the desk and goes to look for Aziraphale. He’s reading in the kitchen, a blue glass vase of daffodils on the table in front of him. He’d said some unforgivably romantic nonsense about Crowley’s eyes compared to daffodils once, and while he’d shut down that conversation at the time, the angel did have a tendency to bring them into the house whenever he got the chance.

‘Good morning.’

She knows better than to expect any flicker of reaction about her presentation. A ten-foot snake slithering through the kitchen one morning didn’t get any response beyond ‘please don’t crawl across that book, dear, the binding glue is still wet and you’ll get stuck.’ She’s never been bothered by that.

‘Dearest.’ He looks at her, eyes storm cloud blue with concern; the unspoken question of ‘are you alright? What can I do? Do you need me to do anything?

She sits opposite him and flicks a fingernail against the vase. ‘It doesn’t match your eyes, you know.’ Meaning ‘I’m fine, I’m alright, thank you. Thank you.’

‘Oh, hush, you serpent. I didn’t buy it for that.’ Meaning ‘Good. I’m glad, my dearest. Don’t thank me, you never need to thank me for looking after you.’

_I want that. Forever._

_Do something about it, then._

She does. ‘Women can propose on a Leap Year Day, you know.’ Damn. There’s at least a whole conversation’s worth of words she’d meant to use before getting to that point.

‘Crowley?’

‘Ngk. Oh for somebody’s sake, I had this all planned out and I’m still…Ugh.’

The ring she laid on the table was one Crowley had been working on for the past month. Aziraphale had loved the idea of him installing a workspace in the cottage; something with space for metal working and glass blowing; all stuff that that he could work with heat and fill with colours. It hadn’t been like making stars, but everything he did in that room was an act of creation that replaced something he hadn’t realised he’d been missing. He hadn’t realised what he was doing until he’d had the white gold band in the forge.

‘Angel. Aziraphale. Marry me.’

He picks up the ring and stares at it, holding it up to the light. Crowley knows what he’s seeing – whispers of star light, caught inside the metal. It looks plain to human eyes, but to them, it’s all the colours of the night sky, all the most beautiful things he’d ever made for the most beautiful being he’s ever seen.

‘Oh Crowley, dearest. It’s beautiful. Yes. Yes, of course.’

Aziraphale comes around the table, ring clutched in one hand, and kisses her fiercely, which is good, because she doesn’t think either of them can remember words at the moment.

Eventually, he pulls away a little and asks ‘is this what last night was about?’

She nods and doesn’t reply, and Aziraphale runs a hand over her face and everything is alright for now. That’s more than what a demon deserves, and as Aziraphale kisses her again, whispers ‘yes, Crowley,’ again and again, her thoughts are blissfully still. 

**Author's Note:**

> Mission: finally write a sex scene for this fandom sort of managed. (Despite writing fic for over 20 years and including this one, I can still count the smut scenes I've written on one hand)


End file.
